Arrow in the Hart
by Earendil Eldar
Summary: (TW Series 2 spoilers) During his tour of 21st century Earth, after leaving Jack and his decimated team in Cardiff, John Hart meets someone who reminds him a little too much of two brothers from Boeshane... all wrapped up in one gorgeous, lethal package. (Fair warning, i have NO idea if or where this will go).
1. Chapter 1

_**So... this happened. You can thank these two for not letting me work on all the other WIPs.**_

* * *

"Stupid, boring, repressed little planet," grumbled the man who walked away from the back alley dust-up. He found himself bouncing between enjoying the grit and rawness of the sex here and being thoroughly revolted by public reactions to it. It was an easy fix. All he had to do was leave. But it was a bit like watching a galactic cruiser running out of fuel and getting sucked into a nearby black hole. You just couldn't look away.

Only Jack would find this place 'special', John decided. Though, he had his suspicions that given a functioning wrist-strap, the former Time Agent currently known as Jack Harkness would ditch this local cluster backwater faster than you could say hypervodka. Except that he'd have to bring along his Eyecandy, of course. Jack always fancied the broken ones he reckoned himself good enough to 'fix'. And always dumped 'em when he realized he couldn't. Well, once was enough for John Hart to call a pattern, anyway.

John shook his head in disgust and didn't bother dusting off his jacket as he trudged down the street, looking for some other bar to get laid in/knock over. There was a nightclub down the way, he could hear the 'music' pumping out of it. He flipped up the cover on his strap and decided to fuck with the sound system for a bit before making his entrance. Approaching the green-glowing warehouse, he couldn't help but think of that club on the Anteres-11 station that he and 'Jack' had busted up for its drug-ring – then fucked one another raw on the bar. The good old days….

As John strode into the club (after snogging the doorman and leaving him in need of a cigarette), he couldn't help admiring his handiwork. The young, scantily-clad patrons seemed a bit put out with the format change from rave to vintage glam rock. He glanced around, planning his next move, when his attention was pulled up to the catwalk balcony. The tall, broad-shouldered figure in a suit definitely didn't match the rest of the scenery. John decided to investigate the anomaly a little closer and made his way up.

He was glad he kept to the shadows to observe, because when the man turned, John nearly missed his step and stumbled. What was Jack doing here? And dressed like a businessman. Not that Jack couldn't pull off just about any look he tried, even that time he went undercover in drag…. This was different though. That was definitely Jack, but John had never seen him looking so… icy. He knew Jack well and he'd seen him in just about every emotional state, but when Jack was angry it was never cold. No matter how much he might try to feign unfeeling indifference, Jack's problem was that he always cared too damn much. When Jack was hurt, it burned until he exploded. Or imploded, usually.

This Jack… this Jack looked like their most dangerous opponents usually looked. Like someone who could methodically wipe out an entire planet without blinking. Like someone who would snap the neck of his own flesh and blood and walk away. Like someone who knew how to exploit the faintest trace of decency in anyone to their own ends. It looked for all the world like Jack had become Gray.

John knew he'd left Jack devastated by the loss of half his team at Gray's hands, but Jack… there was no way Jack would respond like that. Not as long as Eyecandy was in the picture. John hated to admit it, but he knew Jack was the broken one and Eyecandy was the one doing the fixing. If something had happened to Eyecandy, though….

John took a deep breath and stepped out of the shadows. This was _so_ not in his plans for the night.

"What happened to him?"

'Jack' didn't turn, just kept watching the DJ who still couldn't figure out how to change the music. "You've been standing there watching me, armed to the teeth, for the last five minutes. Now, I don't know who you're asking about, but your idea of 'getting me to talk' kinda sucks. Who the hell are you, anyway?"

John rolled his eyes. "Still wearing Hart, I suppose. Haven't met anything that's made me have to change, yet. And you know who I'm talking about because you wouldn't be looking like a sociopath if your little Welsh rarebit was in tow. What happened to him, Jack?"

Now he did turn. "First – no, I don't know what you're talking about. Second – the last person who called me a sociopath to my face doesn't _have_ a face anymore. Third – where the fuck do you get off calling me 'Jack'?"

John almost took a step back. Jack had never looked at him like that before. And that edge in his voice… downright terrifying. Even more than Jack's little 'back from the dead' routine. "Ok. What is it these days, then?"

" _These_ days? It's the same as it's always been – Merlyn. Malcolm Merlyn. And, again, I don't know who you think you are, but I'm going to need a reason to not have you eliminated in about three seconds."

"Well, that's a different M.O., I'll give you that. How about… I've always been a very good wife?"

'Malcolm's' eyes narrowed and darkened for several seconds during which John was considering which coordinates would get him the furthest away from this latest 'incarnation' of his ex-partner.

"Maybe we oughta test that out," Malcolm grated out, only just audible above the pulsing rhythm of "Don't Stop Me Now". He grabbed John's arm and pulled him toward the nearest men's room.


	2. Chapter 2

"Ow."

John snickered at 'Malcolm's' sleep-muttered pronouncement. "Forgot about that, did you? Well, I didn't expect Eyecandy was much of a top-" John was grateful his sentence was the only thing cut off when he suddenly found Malcolm on top of his with a frighteningly sharp blade at his throat. "Ok. Too soon. Sorry. Maybe if I knew what happened to -"

"You really don't know when to shut up, do you?" Malcolm snarled, pressing the blade a little more.

John smirked but decided against a verbal reply.

"Learning is taking place. Good. Now, I want answers. Who the fuck are you and who sent you?"

"I thought we did the introductions earlier. John Hart, still. Malcolm Merlyn, now, apparently. Could you have gone a little more… cartoonish? And have you dropped the Captain? Probably for the best. That was rather pretentious. You didn't exactly stick around the Agency long enough to formally acceptance your Captaincy. Not that I did, either."

"Who. Sent. You? Give me a straight answer without the god-damned babble, now, or I'm going to eviscerate you alive. Clear?"

"Nobody 'sent' me. I'm not here to almost accidentally blow up your town or bury you or any of that. Sorry about the last time. Honest coincidence, for a change, running into you here. I didn't know you were here. I figured you were still hanging out in your Welsh hidey-hole."

"I've never been to Wales, so why do you keep bringing it up?"

John rolled his eyes. "Is this place bugged?" he whispered, almost inaudibly.

"You tell me."

"I could scan with my wrist strap if you'd allow me to move."

"Wearable tech? Or detonation device? Yeah, right. You're not gonna move until I'm satisfied with your answers. Maybe not then, either."

"Alright, fine. I asked because I wanted to know how deep in cover you are. The acting-like-you-don't-know-me shtick is pretty thin, even if you are playing it to the hilt. As it were."

"So I'm supposed to believe that nobody sent you, even though the League wants my ass on a platter?"

"Rear of the Year, can't blame 'em. I don't know what the League is, though, so whoever they are, they didn't send me. If you're in some kind of trouble, I could help. Possibly with better results than the last time. Although, I don't really see what difference it makes. They can't kill you, obviously. And you still haven't told me what happened to him, so I can only guess it was bad, not just a break-up. If that's the case, I'm sorry. I never saw you as in love as you were with him -"

"I've never been in love with a man. Had some fun, yeah. But the only person I ever loved like that was Becca."

"Denying what he meant to you isn't gonna help. I know you've been stuck here for, what, more than 100 years? But I don't think for a second you've been on this backward little planet long enough to start _thinking_ like a 21st centurion."

"Let's get this straight… you're convinced you know me – but you don't. You think I've been places and done things I haven't. And now you're talking about immortality? You're on some interesting drugs. Maybe I need to find out about that before it gets into the wrong hands."

John took a deep breath. It was going to be a long night if Jack kept this up. "Told you before, rehabs didn't really work. Nothing around here is very strong, though. Pretty boring. What I want to know about is what happened to you to wipe out who you are and replace it with this. Your retcon doesn't do that and I've got a hunch it wouldn't work on you anyway. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you never loved him? That what happened with your brother and you're your team didn't all but destroy you? That he wasn't the only thing that kept you going?"

Malcolm just stared at John.

John stared back harder.

And there wasn't so much as a flicker of 'Jack' there in Malcolm, despite being an absolute dead ringer.

"I think this may be a case of mistaken identity," John said eventually. "Pretty big universe. Suppose this sort of thing isn't so unusual."

"I bet you're right," Malcolm said with an unnerving little smile. "But that doesn't mean you're leaving any time soon."


	3. Chapter 3

"I think I'm gonna need more answers," Malcolm decided, pulling John's arms up over his head and cuffing his wrists to the headboard. "You don't need to check-in with anybody, do you?"

"Nobody at all, big boy," John grinned.

"Good," Malcolm said, putting his katana away. "Because I know of a much better way to go about -"

He was left kneeling over an empty pillow when the man under him dematerialized.

"And now I _know_ you're not Jack," came a smug voice from across the room. "Oh, no, don't reach for that big, nasty sword again. I've got you covered with a sonic blaster. And a nice arse is a terrible thing to waste."

"I'm pretty good at disappearing," Malcolm said, turning slowly with his hands raised, "but I'm definitely not that good."

"I'd imagine you aren't. Love my little wrist-strap."

"How's it do that?"

"51st century technology. It's called a vortex manipulator. Instantaneous travel in time and space, but you should keep the trips pretty short. They can be temperamental on long trips and if you get stuck with a shorted-out strap in, say, 1870 or so, you're pretty fucked. A bit rough-and-dirty, but I like it that way."

"I believe 'rough-and-dirty' was the only part of that I understood."

John smirked. "Well, as long as you do understand that. Now. You wanted to ask some questions. I'm fine with that, but I get the impression you're a dangerous man to be left unsecured, so I'm going to have to take precautions. It was so much easier with old Jackie. All I had to do was kill him and string him up while he was out. Bet you don't do that trick, though."

"I'm harder to kill than most people think," Malcolm challenged.

"But not impossible, eh?" John said, approaching the bed and motioning with his blaster for Malcolm to cooperate in positioning his hands for the cuffs. "There we are. Much more cosy. I'm all yours now. Ask me anything." John perched at the end of Malcolm's bed, smiling serenely.

Malcolm glared at the infuriating blond. "Setting aside all this bullshit about time-travel, I still want to know who sent you. You're a really poor assassin, despite your armory and tricks."

"Lucky for you I'm not here to 'rub you out'. Per se. Though I'm sure you'd like that. However, the time-travel. Very real. I'd be happy to demonstrate."

"Want to try explaining it to me first?"

John sighed. "No, not really. Fact is, I can monkey around with this stuff, but I've never been able to explain it. Especially not to less evolved civilizations. I'm more the physical guy than the tech guy."

"Imagine that," Malcolm muttered.

"So, come on. Let's go someplace fun. I'm thinking this place could use some new décor. Classical Greek pottery, maybe." John wrapped the bedsheet around Malcolm, uncuffed him, and pressed a button on his wrist-strap while holding onto Malcolm's arm.

Moments later, Malcolm collapsed to the ground, catching his breath and trying to convince himself that he wasn't going to be copiously ill.

"Oh, should have warned you, first trips are pretty much always like that. You'll get used to it. Probably. Come on, I don't really want to hang around here all day."

"I don't know what you just did to me," Malcolm breathed, slowly getting up. "I _don't_ get dizzy." He raised his head and looked for something in the distance to focus on to stop the spinning sensation. "Where the hell are we?"

"Athenian agora. I was aiming for a symposium, but this'll do."

"And I'm meant to believe you haven't drugged me and taken me to some kind of… historical reenactment?"

"You people are so predictable. I take you to an unbelievable place in your planet's history and you shrug it off as 'drugs'. Do you people ever have any actual experiences? Oh well, I guess a visit to something off world might be more persuasive. No drugs… honest!" John keyed in coordinates and grabbed Malcolm's wrist.

Malcolm nearly managed not to collapse on his second landing, but wasn't as successful in the battle to keep from being sick.

"Welcome to Woman Wept. I'd show you to view from orbit if I had a ship instead of just the strap. Anyway, frozen seas. Minor issue with their sun a while ago. Nothing like that on your planet – yet. Is anything of this going in? And, please, don't blame drugs – again."

Malcolm groaned and slowly straightened up again. His jaw dropped when he saw the white-foam waves frozen solid. "This is real…."

John rolled his eyes. "Finally."


	4. Chapter 4

"So, now that you're getting the hang of this stuff, I've been thinking. Dangerous territory, I know. You said you've never been to Wales. Why not see what you're missing? Which, really, isn't much. But it could prove particularly interesting."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Malcolm muttered, covering his eyes.

"Well, just come along for the ride. You'll see. You might be useful."

"I don't especially like it when people think I'm 'useful'," Malcolm snapped.

John snickered. "Now you really do remind me of Jack," he said, taking Malcolm's arm and sending them off.

"Oh god," Malcolm moaned, stumbling forward on wet pavement.

John shook his head. "How about a nice cup of tea? That would help. They do that here. Nice coffee, too, but I'm thinking Eyecandy's a bit tied up at the moment. Well, probably not literally. Seems like Jack's gone off the fun stuff. Boring, vanilla Eyecandy…."

"Why don't you ever shut up?"

"Oh, Jack's the one who can talk. You'll meet him soon."

"Why?" Malcolm demanded, somewhat pathetically.

"Like I said, I just think you might be useful. There was a problem last time I was here. Kind of a big one."

"And what, exactly, do you call 'kind of a big one'?"

John leered. "Well… you are _very_ similar to Jack," he winked.

Malcolm rolled his eyes.

"Don't worry too much about the details. The thing is, Jack's little brother kind of tried to destroy the city, killed off half his team, and forced me to bury Jack alive under the foundations of the city 3000 years ago."

Malcolm just stared for a few moments. "I'm going to write that off as jet-lag. And how do you think I'm going to be useful? Because if I look so much like the guy who's supposed to be buried right now, I don't think I want anything to do with it."

"No, actually, I'm thinking we can prevent all the buried alive, lost team, Weevil outbreak, nuclear meltdown stuff."

"Weevil outbreak? A pest problem is on par with a nuclear meltdown around here?"

"You've never seen these Weevils."

"Yeah… I still think I don't need to be in on this. Thanks for the ride, but I think I'm heading home. Don't follow me, because I have a very nasty bad side that is rarely survived."

"And what if I told you I've decided not to give you the choice?"

"I think that would be a very stupid decision on your part," Malcolm snarled.

"Guess you missed the part where I slipped that bracelet on you," John said casually. "Well, you were busy being sick at the moment."

Malcolm looked down at his right hand. "What's that supposed to be? Your kind's idea of a marriage proposal?"

"Not quite. But, do us both a favor and don't try to take it off? It'll blow up if you do. With approximately 1500 Arketanian tons of explosive."

"Remind me what incentive I have to not kill you where you stand?" Malcolm growled.

John tapped at his temple. "The only disarm code is in here. Shall we get on with it? You can still have that cup of tea. Probably need it before the night's out."

"I still don't get the plan."

"Oh, there's no plan. Just going to wing it. The main thing is, I'm already here, from before, so I've got to be careful not to cross my own timeline."

"You mean to tell me there's two of you on the loose around here? How the hell do I tell you apart?"

John shrugged. "This shirt's cleaner? Word of advice – if you see the other me, or the other Jack, don't let them kiss you. Trust me. And if you see this one," John brought up a holo-image of Gray from his wrist-strap, "kill him on sight."


	5. Chapter 5

Malcolm really didn't like the idea of taking a hit on somebody without knowing why or even what side any of them were on, himself included. But he disliked that explosive bracelet on his wrist even more and was perfectly willing to eliminate anybody to ensure its swift removal. And that, at least, was familiar territory.

As the spinning sensation slowed, Malcolm began to feel on firmer footing with the whole thing. He caught up with John and grasped the shorter man's shoulder. "If I'm going to do this, I'm going to need a plan. You might wing it, but I do not. I need to know what I'm going up against. And I'm going to need to something to work with."

John checked his watch. "Gone eight already. We don't have a lot of time to stock up on endo-titanium bullets. I reckon you're fairly handy, though, given what I saw in your house," he said, unbuckling one of his scabbards and passing it to Malcolm.

"And what do we need to do? Just run around looking for people to kill?"

"Of course not. This isn't the Rooster Nebula. I usually don't do plans, but if it makes you feel any better, the general idea is that right now the Weevils are already out, Gray is somewhere, probably in Jack's Hub just now. Jack's buried already, but don't worry about that, sorts itself before long. Gwen's probably down there in the Hub with me by now as well. If you see her – brunette Welsh girl, gap-teeth, nice figure – just pretend you're Jack, give 'er a snog, and she'll go along with whatever you want. Same for Eyecandy."

"This guy just sleeps with everybody?"

John shrugged. "Basically. Now, if I go down there, obviously I'm going to have to avoid me. So, I should probably stay above ground and… I don't know, help out somewhere."

"In other words, you're going to leave me to do the wet-work. And what will get out of this, besides you promising not to blow me up?"

"That's not motivation enough?"

"I know a thing or two about business. Not being killed would essentially just be a break-even."

John grinned unexpectedly. "You don't especially mind killing a complete stranger to save yourself, _and_ you want to get a little something extra out of the bargain? Oh, you are just like the old Jack! We'll sort that later. Just now, work to do." John checked the time again. "Bloody hell, we're probably locked in the cells already. You'll like that, captive audience. Now, remember, you're Jack and your primary directive is to take out his brother. Would be nice if you could prevent any other bloodshed as well, so keep an eye out for a Japanese tech-genius. If anybody questions anything, just say that 3000 years being buried alive has made your head a bit fuzzy."

"Yeah. Where am I supposed to go?"

"Oh, the fountain there. Hop up on that middle paving stone. And then don't fall off. I'll send you down. And watch for bullets. Gray shoots first and asks later."

Malcolm rolled his eyes and stalked over to the stone in front of the semi-cylindrical fountain. This guy's methods made Ra's look like a sane boss. "Hey!" Malcolm shouted just before John programmed the invisible lift to descend. "If I'm supposed to know these people, what the hell are their names? I get the feeling only an asshole like you walks around calling people 'Eyecandy' and 'Tech-genius'."

"That would be a giveaway. It's Ianto, and Toshiko. You'll figure out which is which. Off with you, now. Spit-spot."


	6. Chapter 6

Malcolm tried not to stare as if he'd never seen the place as the paving stone he stood on slowly sank under the surface and into what looked like a disused underground station, fitted with high-tech and other-worldly equipment. From his elevated view, Malcolm scoped the lay-out of the place. He spotted a woman behind a computer screen and guessed she was Toshiko. She hadn't seen him, though, obviously too focused on her work.

What she also didn't notice was a man in what looked like filthy medieval under-armour padding, raising a gun at her from across the room. It didn't take much guesswork to figure out that was Malcolm's assigned target. And he also knew that without a throwing or projectile weapon, he couldn't act quickly enough to stop the man from pulling the trigger. There was only one thing he could do….

"Hey!" Malcolm shouted.

Both sets of eyes jumped to Malcolm, but seeing 'Jack's' glare at Gray was enough to call Tosh's attention to the fact that there was another threat in the house. She swapped her PDA for a gun and took cover.

"How did you get out of there?" Gray demanded, pointing the gun at Malcolm, who was still clad in his $700 Sferra bedsheet-cum-toga-cum-'burial shroud'.

"I'm pretty good at turning up unexpectedly," Malcolm grinned as the lift hit bottom. "And I think you'll know by now that pointing that at me is pretty useless, isn't it? 3000 years underground…."

The deafening discharge of a gunshot echoed through the cavernous Hub. Gray dropped his weapon and sank to his knees, clutching his wrist.

Malcolm looked impressed toward Tosh.

"I didn't shoot to kill, Jack. We've got a problem at Turnmill – I'm on it, but we haven't much time -"

Malcolm ignored her and strode up to Gray, fixing him with an icy stare and kicking his gun into the fountain reservoir. "I've condemned people to torture in my time, but always with the knowledge that once they'd suffered their debt, it would all be over. Eventually, if not immediately. Nobody's ever accused me of having much in the way of scruples, but what you did… burying alive a man who cannot die? That makes even me sick," Malcolm hissed. He wasted no more time running Gray through with his borrowed sword. Mission accomplished. Almost too easy.

Malcolm looked around to find Toshiko wide-eyed. "What about that thing at Turnmill?" he asked.

"O-Owen's there… and it's in meltdown. I can stop it, but I'll have to hurry." She seemed to shake herself out of it and ran back to the computer and her PDA.

"Where can I find some clothes?" Malcolm asked.

Toshiko glanced up, confused.

"Buried 3000 years… kind of fuzzy on some little details…."

"The hatch in the corner of your office," Tosh said, distractedly pointing up to Jack's office.

"Thank god," Malcolm muttered, hurrying up the stairs.

* * *

"What in all hell are you doing here?" Owen grumbled, trying to follow Tosh's instructions for the nuclear meltdown procedure.

"Believe it or not, I'm here to help. Now, you gotta beat it out. I'll take over – give me your comms."

"Why should I believe a word you say?" Owen sneered. "You're more likely to blow this whole place sky-high and speed up the process."

"Ordinarily, you might be right. But I'm telling you to get out of here because there isn't much time. This place is melting down and is really close to going into lockdown. Now, I can stop it and get myself out – love my wrist-strap – but you gotta split. Now. No more questions. Go!"

Owen hesitated, glaring at John. "This city goes nuclear… I'll personally rip your arse from your… yeah, whatever," he threatened, throwing his ear-piece to John, then turned and hurried away, breaking into a sprint after a few steps.


	7. Chapter 7

Malcolm had to admit he was kind of impressed with the Torchwood Hub. It was a hell of a lot cooler than Oliver Queen's zero-security base. The 'living accommodations' under the office left a lot to be desired, though. Malcolm went right for one of the suits he found hanging in the closet, but found it about a size small. Their quality was superb, though. Pity. The only things that fit him appeared to be vintage, quasi-military apparel. Was this how his doppleganger went around?

Malcolm hurried back out after dressing in Jack's clothes. He wanted a better look at some of Torchwood's gear. Maybe something there could be of use. And if they thought he was the boss, no one would question his poking around.

"Jack!" Toshiko called as Malcolm emerged. "John's shown up at Turnmill. Sent Owen away and said he'd take care of the meltdown. Why are we trusting him, Jack? He's tried to kill us all about a dozen times."

"Expect the unexpected," Malcolm said, hoping that was cryptic enough. "What's that banging noise? Problem with the pipes?"

Tosh gave him a cautious look. "I think it's coming from the morgue. I've still got to finish with this shutdown procedure."

Malcolm nodded and turned to go, wondering how he was going to find his way through the tunnels of this place.

"Be careful, Jack! We had loose Weevils earlier," Tosh called after him.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Malcolm grumbled. When he finally located the source of that thumping, he couldn't say he was surprised that it was coming from a morgue 'freezer'. This place was one freak-show after another. Keeping his sword drawn, Malcolm pulled open the freezer drawer and braced to dispatch whatever was inside.

What he didn't expect to find in there was himself.

The freezer coffin lid slide back and Jack looked up, blinking for a moment at the light. Then his face went pale. "No. No! This can't happen! Get out of here – tell me nothing! Go!"

"Oh. You think I'm you. That timeline stuff, huh? I'm _not_ you, believe it or not. From what I've heard, in fact, I'm _nothing_ like you. Except in looks."

Jack covered his eyes for a moment, then pulled himself up to sit and climb out of the coffin. "Are you telling me you're an alternate-dimension me? Because that's probably even worse."

"I'm not a 'you' at all. Jack, isn't it? I'm not a 'Jack' and never was. Merlyn. Malcolm."

"What's that supposed to mean? Who are you? Why are you here? Where's Gray?"

"Gray, that was your brother? He's upstairs. Dead. Sorry, but he was about to kill your friend. Figured I'd stop that."

"You killed my little brother? And you're going to stand there and tell me that as if you were telling me you'd just dropped a pint of lager?"

"I'm not here to discuss it. Your friend is still alive, thanks to me."

Jack hesitated. "Which friend?"

"Toshiko." Malcolm couldn't be sure, but he got the sense that the relief on Jack's very familiar face was somewhat less that Toshiko wasn't hurt and fractionally more it wasn't someone else who was in danger in the first place.

Jack clambered out of the coffin and shoved it shut again. "And why are you here, Malcolm, in _my_ Hub, in _my_ clothes?"

"I think that's a very long story. And not one I exactly understand. I would recommend asking your friend John, but he has to be careful about that timeline crossing. Can't believe I'm actually saying that."

"You came here with John… presumably from the future? And Toshiko is alive because of you?"

"Something like that. Apparently. And to be frank, I'm eager to leave again as soon as that psycho gets this off me," Malcolm said, displaying the bracelet John threatened him with. "And, fair warning, the minute this comes off, I'm very likely going to kill him on the spot."

Jack smirked. "Wouldn't blame you," he said, turning and hurrying out of the morgue.

"He said someone was locked in the cells. Himself, I think, and… Gwen?" Malcolm said, following Jack who appeared to be heading back toward the main room of the Hub.

"Damn it," Jack muttered. He forced back the part of himself that wanted nothing more than to run to take care of his brother and find out if this twin of his was really telling the truth. Jack didn't get the sense that he should trust Malcolm any more than he trusted John, especially since they were obviously working together. Instead, though, Jack sprinted to the vaults where he found Gwen, John, and Ianto indeed stuck in cells.

Gwen launched herself at Jack the moment the cell door opened, and for a moment Ianto couldn't pull his eyes from Jack either, so relieved that he was back among them. It only took a second for Ianto to realize there was someone else walking away from the vaults, though. Someone who's stature and stride was nearly identical to Jack's. He was more than certain that it wouldn't be Gray, though, as was confirmed when Jack informed John that it was 'done'. Then who…?


	8. Chapter 8

After they made sure that the resident Weevils were once again secured, Jack told Gwen and Ianto that he'd be up in a moment, and that he'd handle everything to do with autopsy that he knew he'd need Owen to perform on Gray before… whatever was to be done afterward.

Jack turned to John and offered a hand of thanks. "Your methods, as always, leave everything to be desired. But I am grateful for the help. Now and later. And, sorry but, I'm kinda gonna need you to stay here for a few minutes."

"Jack Harkness, begging me to stay. Knew the day would come."

"Captain," Jack replied automatically. "And I'm not begging. I'm telling. It's a timeline thing, and the last thing I can deal with right now is you causing a paradox. As if your Rift tampering wasn't enough."

"You mean I've come round for a visit and you're not even going to let me greet myself? How rude."

"Just stay right here and 'greet' yourself with your own hand. I'm serious. Because if I have to, I will gladly lock you and… your 'not-Jack' friend up with one of my permanent guests here. And after the night they had…."

"And who would that be, my 'not-Jack' friend?" John asked sulkily.

"Never mind. You'll find out eventually. Now. Stay here and do not get into a solitary thing. Got that? Because if you do, it won't be me you'll have to deal with."

John started to smirk but Jack's grin stopped him. "Oh… you have no idea what his unleashed rage is like. All that polish and reserve? Think of the physics of supercompaction and what happens when it all blows."

Jack turned from the cells and hurried away from John. He was half-way up to the main Hub when he realized that his only option now was to face finding out if Gray was really gone. And he still had to decide whether to send that 'not-Jack' directly on his way, or if an investigation was merited. Either would probably necessitate a talk with yet another John Hart. There was no winning, apparently. His only consolation was that the sooner he was done with it all, the sooner he could spend a few hours hiding in Ianto's arms. Or arm, if that dislocated shoulder was bothering him. He'd have slugged John (again) for that, if he didn't know the sick bastard just enjoyed it.

The moment Jack emerged from the lower levels of the Hub, Gwen rushed over to him. "Jack, he's dead! But you… you couldn't have… he was your only brother…."

Jack felt his careful composure beginning to slip just the tiniest bit. He knew it would either fall to crumpling if he admitted to himself that, no, he couldn't have killed Gray even to save him; or it would result in him snapping at Gwen whose compassion knew no boundaries. Jack felt so weary, so drained….

Ianto turned from where he'd been talking to Tosh, taking a step toward Jack as he could see that Jack couldn't stand much more. "Jack, Owen's ETA is about 7 minutes," Ianto said calmly. "I can take care of… the body. Nothing I haven't done -"

"No, Ianto. I have to," Jack said, hoping Ianto could read his gratitude in his eyes.

"Jack…," Gwen pressed, "how could you -"

Jack started to stiffen – not in a fun way – and wasn't sure he wasn't going to lash out as she started on him again. But just then, someone stepped from around a corner.

Ianto had his gun pulled from his back waistband and aimed at 'not-Jack' in a microsecond. "Told you, Tosh," he muttered.

"He didn't kill his brother. I did," Malcolm said, leaning against the archway. "Anyone who has an issue with that should probably take it up with the psycho in the marching band uniform. Though I'm perfectly capable of fielding _issues_ myself. All I really want is to get the hell out of here and leave you people alone. Now, is that a possibility, or do I have to make it one?"

"What's going on here?" Gwen asked slowly as she realized her own gun was sitting on her desk.

"Jack… please tell me that a timestream-crossing paradox with this proximity to the Rift – and a functioning Rift manipulator – isn't going to unleash all hell?" Tosh asked, trying not to panic as her fingers raced across the keyboard, analyzing scenarios in the Rift monitor program.

"It's not." The confident answer wasn't from Jack, but Ianto. "That's not Jack."

"Ianto, look at him!" Gwen cried, her voice raising an octave.

"I am, Gwen, and that is not any version or iteration of Jack Harkness."

Malcolm locked eyes for a long moment with Ianto. Ianto stared back levelly and didn't lower his weapon. Then Malcolm glanced at Jack and said, "He knows you better than you know yourself. I'm not armed," Malcolm promised Ianto, having no doubt that the nicely-dressed Welshman would put a bullet between his eyes without blinking if he thought for a second Jack was in danger.

"He had a sword, Jack," Tosh said, still at her station. "That's how he…."

"Left on your desk when I got changed. Granted, I'd rather be in one of those nice suits, but the ones in your closet didn't quite fit…." Malcolm smirked at Ianto just long enough to notice a faint blush peeking up around his collar.

Jack was still debating what he wanted to do with Malcolm. The more he looked at him, the more he realized Ianto was right. Jack knew he was condemned to eternal life, or something like it, but he couldn't imagine ever getting as absolutely cold as his lookalike. And yet, the man had saved lives, Tosh's particularly. All Jack wanted at the moment was five minutes of peace to think and try – just once – to make the right decision. He doubted Mr. Merlyn was ever very bothered about what was right and wrong. No wonder John 'recruited' him.

And, apparently, speaking of the devil had gone subliminal, because when the Hub's Tannoy system crackled to life, it was with John Hart's voice filling the silence. "Crisis averted, South Wales… yet again. You can all thank me. Separately or in a bunch. I take it however I can get it. Just ask Jack. Well, one of them anyone. Have you figured out how to tell them apart yet? It wasn't until I was cuffed to the bed that I knew he wasn't Jackie. Some things are always a dead giveaway. Top tip: never cuff an ex-Time Agent's wrists together while he's wearing a working vortex manipulator. But I'm sure our clever Eyecandy wouldn't make that mistake even if Jack's could operate properly…. Anyway, don't want to cause a paradox around here. So, if it's not safe to come down, lock your lift now, eh?"

Jack was about to do just that via his wrist-strap, just because he was fairly sure he couldn't stand any more of the three-ring nightmare the entire day had been, but the lift had already started its descent.

"Should've had it locked by the time I started talking," John smirked on the way down. He glanced at the body, red-stained in the middle, on the ground by the lift. "Well done," he said, glancing between Jack and Malcolm, unsure which was which. "See, the thing is, I knew Jack wouldn't be able to do it – don't ask me how. But I also knew the other one would, no problem. _And_ I prevented the entire area from becoming this planet's latest nuclear disaster. Not bad for a little 'sorry about last time', hey?"

"Take him and get the hell out of here. Now," Jack growled, pointing at Malcolm.

"I'm sorry it had to end that way, Jack, but he was only going to cause you more pain the longer he was alive. And there wasn't going to be any fixing him. You never could face that sort of thing."

"Now, John," Jack repeated impatiently.

"You always were shit with the 'thank yous'," John said, strolling up to the version of Jack in the coat. "Fine. We'll leave. But, before I go – and I'm sure even then you'll still have me around," John grinned knowingly, "there's something you should know about. Before I came back here, after meeting him, I decided to do a little research. I wanted to know what could have possibly made you that grumpy. And I found something."


	9. Chapter 9

"No, John."

"It's important," John practically teased.

"I said no. _No_ tampering with the future. I don't care what it is," Jack said firmly.

John gave him a long look, then shrugged and beckoned to Malcolm. "Come on, then. I'll take you home. And I'll take you out for a nice meal if you like, since I'm _not_ shit with the 'thank yous'."

"I'd rather you just get this bomb off of me like you promised," Malcolm said, hesitating to join John.

"That thing? Take it off yourself. And the dinner invitation still stands."

"You told me if I tried -"

"I lied," John shrugged. "But! I'm also the only person who can get you home," he grinned at Malcolm's death glare. He programmed the proper coordinates into his manipulator, then turned to look at Ianto, who still hadn't put his gun away, and walked over to him. "You've got more sense than he has," he said, then lowered his voice so only Ianto could hear. "Remember this next end-of-the-world – 4-5-6. And do not, under any circumstances, go into the room. You'll understand when you get there," he said at normal volume again.

"What did he say?" Jack demanded.

"Nothing important. Just your pre-op measurements, big boy." John grinned and went back to take Malcolm's arm. They disappeared in a ripple of manipulated time-space fabric.

Jack let out a frustrated shout. "What did he say, Ianto?"

Ianto just shook his head, indicating they'd talk about it later. "Anyway, I don't imagine he'd even know how to tell the truth." Ianto had, however, already filed the information – whatever it meant - away under 'potentially useful but with extreme caution.'

The 'front door' alarm sounded and they were all relieved to see Owen enter with his usual huff and scowl. "The Weevils have gone, don't ask me why, but traffic is the worst I've seen it. Why the hell is there a dead body by the lift?"

Jack almost laughed at the non-sequitur but didn't have the energy. He still hadn't even approached Gray's body and he still had John Hart sulking around the Weevil cells to deal with.

"We're gonna need an autopsy… or something," Ianto informed Owen, then stepped to Jack's side. "I'll help you," he said quietly.

Without warning, Jack's face crumpled and he fell apart when Ianto's arms immediately wrapped around him. "Why is there always so much death?" Jack whispered.

"I don't know, Jack," Ianto whispered back, pleading silently over Jack's shoulder with Tosh to get Gwen's attention on something else so that he could help Jack deal with Gray's demise without her gratingly well-intentioned fussing.

"Can I go yet?" John whinged, coming up from the vaults. "I know 'I'm' gone because I felt the chronons crackling."

Tosh quickly suggested Gwen divert John and followed them, sparing Jack a moment's breakdown in peace.

Ianto sat down beside Jack on the step up to the lift. For a long while Jack just stared blankly at Gray. "He was right," Jack rasped. "I wouldn't have done it. I would have forgiven him. Even after…. But I did kill him. I killed him the moment I let go."

Ianto closed his eyes in sympathy. A memory came to him of being dragged and restrained on that lift while a creature that once had been the love of his life was attacked by the resident pet pteranodon – both of which he'd brought to Torchwood 3. He also remembered a vow that, given a chance to save Jack, he'd refuse and watch him suffer. Ianto no longer knew who he was in those horrific moments, but knew he was now more himself than he'd ever been.

"No you didn't, Jack. You were a child. You were just a terrified boy in a situation no one should ever face. You've got to get to grips with it eventually, Jack. You didn't do this. Monsters did. The same sort we deal with and make sure no one else suffers from. You didn't let go on purpose, you know that."

"What about the times I did let go on purpose? What about Jasmine? What about those children in…."

"Jack. You've always done the best you could. The best anyone could in terrible circumstances. You've saved so many lives, Jack. Including mine, a few times."

"That's because I can't live without you," Jack whispered, hoping Ianto couldn't hear him but knowing Ianto Jones missed nothing.

Ianto decided in that moment that, for what was possibly the first time in his life, John Hart hadn't been lying about not going into Room 456. It was a warning he would choose to heed because if it meant Jack might lose him, whatever it was would just have to be done without Ianto Jones.

"Come on," Ianto said softly, "I'll help you lift him down to the theatre." They could talk about other things afterward.

* * *

Malcolm's fourth VM trip wasn't nearly as rough as the first three. Maybe he was getting used to the sensation of having his very atoms pulled apart and smashed back together within a fraction of a second. This time, he steadied himself quickly, ripped the bracelet off his arm and flung it away before turning, hell bent on murder, toward John Hart.

"Alright. You want to kill me. Fair enough, most people do. But I'll make you a sporting deal. You let me have one last snog, and if you still want my head – the big one – after that, no tricks. I won't run."

Malcolm glared.

"Last request isn't too much to ask, is it? You're a fair man."

Malcolm hated it when people pulled the 'honour amongst thieves' card. "Alright, fine. At least I know you're a good kisser."

"Good enough to make you weak at the knees," John grinned, pulling Malcolm into a long, deep, tongue-filled kiss. "I mean, _literally_ weak, eh?" he snickered, pulling back as Malcolm Merlyn buckled in front of him. "That one never gets old. Well… guess I've got to decide what to do with you now. Maybe I can teach you a thing or two about knots so you don't have to rely on those ridiculous trick bedroom cuffs anymore. Ever been to the Lotus nebula? What am I saying? Of course you haven't. Well, let's go. Seventeen simultaneous pleasures… I mean, once I figure out where the hell I left the antidote to the lip gloss, anyway. I'll remember, probably before it's too late…."


End file.
